


The Sweetest Sting

by Schalakitty



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Crisis Core: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Sex, BDSM, BDSM Scene, Dom/sub, Flogging, M/M, Riding, Risk Aware Consensual Kink, Sephiroth having momentary non-binary feelings, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:49:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24083860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Schalakitty/pseuds/Schalakitty
Summary: A pause then. A breath they took in harmony.And then. Oh,and then.“As you wish, pet.”Written originally as a fill for the 2020 FF7 Kinkmeme
Relationships: Lazard Deusericus/Sephiroth
Comments: 2
Kudos: 18





	The Sweetest Sting

**Author's Note:**

  * For [junonreactor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/junonreactor/gifts).



> Written originally as a fill for the [2020 FF7 Kinkmeme](https://ff7kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org). 
> 
> Original Prompt: Lazard/Sephiroth, D/s, impact play - Wanna see Lazard go wild on Sephiroth's ass (whipping? caning? whatever implement you prefer), both of them well aware that it's impossible for a non-Soldier to actually hurt Sephiroth. Maybe Lazard's the one who actually gets hurt, from trying too hard? Bonus for aftercare.
> 
> Beta Read by [WickedOrin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wickedorin/pseuds/wickedorin)

There is only breathing to start. Inhale – knees steady on the stiff cushion, his weigh sinking deep into the foam as the soft cover curves against his skin. Exhale – his hair bound in ties and ropes, artful and exposing all in the same instant. Inhale – his eyes closed behind the silken blind, eyelashes peacefully fluttering even though they cannot open. Exhale – wrists bound in front, nothing he couldn't break but the submission is so desired that he eagerly accepts their constriction. 

Internal clock ticking beat by beat in time with his heart, the anticipation building slow but steady. A floodgate waiting to be broken. A storm building dark and heavy in the summer sky. A tension only broken when the bedroom door clicks open, and then is shut and locked such as smoothly. A familiar cadence of footsteps, the first notes of the man's unique scent, the gentle displacement of the air as he moves. All of it makes Sephiroth immediately sit up straighter, keenly aware of Lazard's eyes upon him – upon them? 

(The word – the concept - is still too new, too raw, too special to let it seep out of the dark corner they've carved out for themselves here and let wither under the harsh, judging light of day. Maybe with time. Maybe. Maybe...)

The distracting thoughts dissolve into the darkness with the first touch, warm fingers against his neck grounding him back in the moment. “There's my lovely pet,” Lazard praises, tracing along the bared skin in measured strokes. “So patient for me, so eager.” Quiet murmurs underlined by the soft clink of the collar slipping into its rightful place, at once feather light and dangerously heavy about Sephiroth's neck. 

“I'm going to ask you _once_ ,” comes the offer, the chance for him to back out before the gates break open. “Do you still want this? All of this?”

“Yes, Sir,” the answer is given without hesitation, the only shake in his voice from the eager energy thrumming inside him. Swallowing him up in the excitement that can only come with _getting what he wants._

A pause then. A breath they took in harmony. 

And then. Oh, _and then._

“As you wish, pet.” 

The first flogger connects with a sharp snap, one motion building into another as Lazard flicks his wrist in quick circles. Thin leather tails bite against one shoulder to start, sliding over to the other after a few rotations. The strikes snake around to a figure eight pattern soon enough, crossing back and forth in smooth rhythm across his broad back. Sephiroth fights the urge to arch up into the blossoming heat roiling just under his skin, not wanting to disturb his Dom's flow when they're only just starting. 

Such patience and poise is rewarded as Lazard moves on to the next toy (though not before a few swift swats across that toned ass.) Braided leather this time, woven green and black, mako bright and midnight dark. The nine tails sting so well, heating Sephiroth's skin to a perfect pink flush as they dance across his back. Yet, he remains stock still and near silent, the only outward effects being the uptick in his breathing and the ache in his cock. 

It's only when Lazard asks, “Sting or thud next, pet?” that the SOLDIER finally lets some of the tension slide into his voice. “Thud, Sir,” he responds, taking the break between toys to shift his legs, letting them spread out wider as his hands too sink into the cushion. 

The scent of the toy sets him off even before it connects to his flesh – nothing smells quite like behemoth leather. Thick and dense with tails, the flogger thuds down with each swing, smacking against already sensitized skin. The swapping of sensations finally wrings a full body shudder from him, sound and scent entwining with the feel to drag him down deeper, deeper, closer to where he wants to be. Locked away safe and sound with only his desires and his Dom indulging each one in kind. 

Lazard cracks one last overhand swing down over the meat of his ass before pulling back. “So good for me already, pet,” he purrs, smoothing his hands over the quickly fading marks – they never last long, never let him leave the marks of possession he so desperately wants to write into this perfect pale flesh. But he kisses them all the same, lets the softness provide contrast to what has happened and what is to come. “Shall we go further then? Are you still up for it?” 

A part of him wants to cling to this gentleness a little longer, still so new and potent in his system. But that voice that always pushes him faster, harder, stronger, is too loud to ignore. “Please, Sir,” Sephiroth replies, long fingers already curling into the edge of the cushion, holding himself steady at the very thought. 

“Very well, but remember – the safe word is there if you need it, pet,” one last reminder, circling back to the foundation of trust that makes all this possible. But they both know the risks, know the limits – theoretical as they may be in Sephiroth's case – that set up the borders of their play. And he is counting the steps Lazard takes as he shifts into his new position, needing the space for what he has planned. 

A plan that crashes against his skin in thunderous crack as the bull whip connects with bare flesh. The whip's cracker cuts as neatly as a sword slash across his back, leaves a trail of fire in its wake. All the things Sephiroth _craves_ when he's deep within this dark, sacred place. 

The marks bloom brighter and brighter across his back as Lazard continues with the lashes. Some just graze across, all heat and lightness like summer breezes. Others connect hard enough to actually draw blood, tiny beads of red flecked with mako iridescence bubbling up along the lines. 

Rumors abound that Sephiroth _can't_ bleed, but it is more that so very few have ever been _granted_ that privilege. The same privilege that draws the gasps and moans from his throat, the sharp hisses between his teeth, the snarl of his lips, and tension coiling tight within him. He's willingly lost count by now, forgetting everything but the delirious mix of pleasure-pain roiling across his body, every sensation blending together until his nerves are screaming and singing in equal measure. 

At least until a swing misses the mark, a mistimed motion snapping the cracker in the wrong direction to smack hard against Lazard's thigh. “ _Fuck,_ ” the word falls with a heavy thud, that telltale undercity accent slipping in uninvited. “Fuck, yellow,” he quickly amends, gingerly feeling out the edges of the growing welt. 

Sephiroth dares not turn around, not with his back still partly torn from the whipping, but the safe word is still enough to drag him back up to the surface. “Are you alright, Sir?” He still manages to stay within the edges of the scene, but can drop out at any moment if that's what Lazard needs. 

“I'll be fine, pet,” comes the hasty promise, followed by the verdant scent of a cure spell filling the air as the executive tends to himself. It relieves the worst of the pain, but still leaves him a bit unsteady as he closes the distance between them. “Tell me what you want, what you need right now though and I'll do my best to provide.” 

Those requests are still some of the hardest to fulfill, so new to the concept of anyone _caring_ about his wants and desires. “Bed,” comes the single word, Sephiroth's toes curling at the prospect. Remembering his place, he then rephrases, “Lead me to bed, Sir.” 

Even if it wasn't specifically requested, Lazard refuses to take any further risks and pours another cure spell down over the SOLDIER's back. The last of the cuts stitch closed and all but the brightest marks fade, the rest of the magic pooling thick and heavy as it settles within his existing arousal. “Come on then, pet,” he guides with a careful hand, even knowing that blinded and bound, Sephiroth can still navigate the room with ease. 

Approaching the edge of the bed, he takes careful hold of Lazard's shirt, effectively stopping whatever gesture was to come. “Please, Sir, let me,” Sephiroth quietly insists, deft fingers curling within the fine fabric. He doesn't even bother trying to undo the buttons, just snapping them off one after another. A certain allowance they've worked out, the casual ripping and tearing of clothing just another part of the game. It's no surprise when the fly of the blond's pants “suffer” the same fate, and he spares a moment to let all the useless fabric separating them fall away to pool on the floor at their feet, glasses safely set aside on the nightstand. 

Bound hands running over smooth contours, old scars, and wiry hair alike, it takes only the slightest push to encourage the blond to lay back for him. With practiced motions, Sephiroth's long legs cage him in a tight straddle. “You're already prepared, aren't you, pet?” Lazard asks wryly, knowing the answer even before his hands seek it out. 

Skating along that surprisingly sensitive perineum just to draw out a few extra gasps, Lazard's fingers easily find their mark and sink inside with ease. “So _wet_ for me,” he praises, savoring how his sub's lips curl up at the word. “You're just _aching_ to fuck yourself on my cock, have been this whole time, haven't you, pet?” There's nothing accusatory in his words, not with how he savors Sephiroth's eagerness, how the SOLDIER moans out his response to the probing questions and fingers alike. 

“Please, _please_ ,” he pleads, trying to line himself up even in the midst of being teasingly finger fucked. Sephiroth all but whimpers when the hand withdraws, but is swiftly rewarded as Lazard instead holds his cock steady. That's all the invitation he needs, letting himself sink down without another thought. 

His body greedily swallows up every inch and he grinds down while bottoming out just to savored being filled. Still riding the adrenaline high of that heavy whipping, Sephiroth's body is quick to find its rhythm in quick bucks and sudden drops. Lazard can only hold tight to those powerful thighs, thrusting up as best he can even when it feels like the SOLDIER is grinding him right into the mattress. 

One shaky hand manages to slip away, sliding up the side of Sephiroth's face to find the knot of his blind. “Let me see, pet,” comes the request, just before he follows through and the black silk falls away. Even with those cat-like pupils dilated with desire, his eyes still glow with frightening intensity as they instantly lock with Lazard's. 

With one barrier broken, the rest start to crumble around them in fits and starts. The bindings around his wrists shred and shatter with barely a thought, newly freed hands drawing Lazard in close, keeping him steady through the bruising kisses that follow. In turn, the executive's own hands seek out the knotted ties keeping all that hair bound, managing just enough coordination to leave them coming undone in messy waves of silver locks and black satin. 

They're completely entangled with each other by the end, all writhing limbs and twining moans while chasing their shared release. A white-hot whip crack of ecstasy cuts through them in almost the same instant, Sephiroth's orgasm dragging out Lazard's in quick succession. The tension holds for a precious few seconds before they crash back to the ground together, falling deep into the welcoming embrace of the mattress together. 

A few of those slow, lazy kisses pass between them, the ones Lazard first used to break down the walls between them. The ones that have Sephiroth coming back time and again for more, maybe even moreso that the lure of everything else he's offered. “Good?” The blond murmurs, voice drowsy with satisfaction.

“Good,” comes the reply, a smiling tugging at the corner of his lips, half hidden under his disarrayed bangs. Without a word, Lazard works the collar off with practiced motions, setting it on the nightstand beside his glasses. Wipes are found just as easily, even if it requires a bit of begrudging effort for them to separate and clean up. When it proves to be only so effective, Sephiroth to suggests with a snort, “Should we just shower?” 

“Probably the best course of action,” he agrees while tossing the wipes aside. “Let me have a chance to make sure you're healing up right... I can take some time to wash your hair, braid it up nice for you,” Lazard plans aloud, fingers already lightly sketching over the fast fading marks. 

“And then?” He gently prods further, knowing that won't be the extent of the aftercare. That soothing gentleness is as much of a draw as the depths of pain and heights of pleasure Lazard offers him and he plans to wring out as much as he can while they both have the time. 

With that little knowing grin, the one that always proceeds _exactly_ what Sephiroth wants to hear, the blond continues, “And then, we'll order chicken yakisoba with extra peppers from your favorite restaurant, cuddle up close on the couch in clean pajamas, and watch documentaries until we drift off together.” 

Inhaling a serene, steadying breath, Sephiroth's eyes flutter shut as he purrs, “ _Perfect._ ”


End file.
